


From Kertix to Shoreditch

by Nehszriah



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Adoption, Alien Biology, F/M, Gen, I just want them to be together and have a happy family why are we not allowed this, Kate is always suspicious but always trusts the Doctor as well, Kid Fic, Osgood also knows all the memes, Prompt Fic, aliens adapting to Earth culture, might add more tags later but for now I just want this posted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 16:42:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20261248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehszriah/pseuds/Nehszriah
Summary: The Doctor and Clara discover a stowaway in the TARDIS after a particularly disastrous adventure, which only leads to one conclusion.[from a prompt on tumblr]





	From Kertix to Shoreditch

**Author's Note:**

> This comes from a tumblr prompt about Twelve and Clara finding a lone orphan after an adventure goes sour, which is something I've had bopping around on my computer for a long time just kinda now "finished". That being said, the following takes place in a continuity where "Face the Raven" was actually "Face the Nappy" and the entire episode was Twelve and Clara's adventures in babysitting Rigsy's daughter as a couple throughout time and space. Oh, and, it kind of ends in a place that might be weird, might not, but I kinda wanted to finish it and put it out so I can stop thinking about it, so yeah.

Rushing into the TARDIS, the Doctor slammed the door shut and locked it soon as Clara was in. War raged outside—they had landed in the middle of a ceasefire in the Kertixi Offensive, where ethnic Kers and Tix destroyed each other to the brink of extinction—and they wanted no part in it. Peace talks were already souring by the time they showed up and their intervention, honestly, gave a couple extra hours for civilians to scatter.

“It looks like the end result was that more survived long enough to escape into the mountains,” Clara said as the Doctor threw them into the time vortex. She was looking at her mobile, nodding gravely as she scrolled through the article. “They will be the ones to reclaim the planet once the Offensive’s over. Those poor children will be old by the time that happens…”

“What’s telling you that?”

“Wikipedia.”

He turned around to look at her. “Wikipedia doesn’t exist for Kertix.”

“Then care to explain?”

“They never developed information technology on the same trajectory as Humans did; simple.”

“It’s still right he—”

She stopped walking towards the Doctor when he held up his hand, urging her to stand still. He was hunched, ready to strike, as though they were in potential danger.

“Stay there, Clara,” he said, voice low and rumbly.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“Something’s in the TARDIS,” he replied, quickly undoing the top two buttons of his shirt. Once he was sure that the black-and-white-spotted garment would not constrict him, the Doctor slowly went towards the stairs and descended to the lower console level, Clara following directly behind him. They reached the bottom and Clara could hear sniffling, then a small gasp.

“Wait a second, Doctor, stay put,” she said, walking around him. He opened his mouth to protest and she turned back towards him. “Do as you’re told; I’ve got this.”

Knowing that if there was anyone for him to listen to, it was Clara, the Doctor stayed at the foot of the stairs and observed while she stepped forward, towards the small, shadowy figure hunched over in the corner under a ledge. She sat on her calves and held out her hand, putting on her kindest smile.

“It’s alright, we won’t hurt you. In fact, I’d like to help you, if you’ll let me.”

The figure slowly scooted out from underneath the ledge and the two time-and-space travelers saw it was a rags-clad, dirt-covered child no older than six. Although it was humanoid in appearance (“_Gallifreyaniod_, Clara, we were first”, as the Doctor once said), with the ginger hair typical of the Kers and a violet complexion reminiscent of the Tix, its existence presented a quandary neither adult wished to broach.

“What’s your name?” Clara asked. The child shook its head. “Are you lost? Did you come in here on accident?” Another shake of the head. “So you came in on purpose?” A nod—that was progress, at least. “Where’s your mum? Your dad? You have a family, yeah? Aren’t they going to be worried about you?”

The child broke down into tears, sobbing nonsense the TARDIS couldn’t translate. It allowed Clara to envelope it in a hug, rocking back and forth, stroking its hair and cradling it gently. The Doctor watched on and silently observed the scene. This was something a bit more complicated than what he was normally accustomed to dealing with. He could see that Clara’s heart was breaking for the child, that the _child’s_ heart was already shattered, and that he needed to make sure he didn’t make this worse than it already was. There was no way the child was there on accident—the TARDIS did not let just anyone across her threshold, after all. He nodded as the ship hummed, agreeing with his ages-old companion.

“Here, let me,” he eventually said. He walked over to the child and picked it up, allowing it to latch onto him as he carried it up the stairs and through the ship. As their skin made contact, the Doctor felt a deluge of emotions pour from the child, and he immediately understood. Clara followed and they went into the kitchen, where the Doctor put the child down and guided it to sit on one of the chairs. The Time Lord was soon cooking and the Human was putting together tea, which the Kertixi child watched in confusion.

Before long, there was a plate of strange, aromatic food and a mug of sweet, milky tea in front of the child. It took a cautious sip of the drink before downing the entire thing in one go. Clara took the mug once it was empty and went to refill it, allowing the child time to poke experimentally at the grilled cheese sandwiches.

“My name is Clara,” she said, placing the refilled mug back on the table. “This is the Doctor. What’s your name?”

The child shook its head again. It picked up the sandwich and nibbled the corner experimentally, attempting to judge the food before taking a larger bite. Satisfied, it began eating quickly, as though it was used to eating as much food as it could get in one sitting.

“He doesn’t have a name,” the Doctor explained. “Being a child whose recent ancestry contains both Kers and Tix, he wasn’t given many luxuries… being named included.”

“How do you know that?”

“Remember how easily I put Lucy to sleep when she wouldn’t go down last week?”

“Yeah…?”

“This one’s nerves are too raw to do anything but broadcast emotions and memories—when he put his arms around my neck, he showed me all he needed to.” He took a sip of his own hyper-sugared cuppa and frowned, directing his line of vision towards the child. “You’re an outcast, correct? There’s nowhere for you to go.”

The child nodded and picked up another sandwich half, continuing to eat with downcast eyes.

“Let’s find a place for him,” Clara said. The Doctor lifted an eyebrow in response. “What are you giving me that look for? We have access to just about all of time and space. Why not? It’s not like we have to rush to do so.”

“He is not staying on the TARDIS for any longer than he must; it’s too dangerous otherwise,” he replied. “We’ll find something for him to wear in the wardrobe and put him in the nearest safe spot the ship can locate.”

“Doctor, corridor, _now_.” She went outside the kitchen and waited for the Time Lord to follow. He did, his expression decidedly confused. “What is your problem?!”

“I don’t have a problem, Clara,” he claimed.

“Then you should know that we can’t just dump him anywhere! Not the way he is now! That kid hasn’t said a single word! How is he supposed to get on if he can’t even bring himself to say anything!”

“Plenty of people communicate without speech—the woman in the lake compound…”

“Cass used _sign language_ to communicate, which is something that needs to be learned as well,” Clara sniped. “Now I am going to make sure that this kid can at least _talk_ or some other equivalent before we put him somewhere, even if that means I hide him in my flat!”

“Don’t hide him in your flat, Clara; he’s not a puppy.”

“Then are you going to help me?”

Sighing, the Doctor looked at his companion and knew that he couldn’t say no to those large, round, brown eyes of hers. “Okay, okay, but he can’t go wandering around the TARDIS unsupervised—he’s still too young to know what’s dangerous and what isn’t yet.”

“Ah, thank you!” Clara went on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, which caused him to blush slightly. They then turned to head back into the kitchen when they discovered that the child was standing in the doorway, staring at them curiously. “There you are! Finished eating?”

He nodded.

“Good—it’s time for a bath and then bed, how about that?”

The child considered that and nodded, taking Clara’s hand as she led him through the TARDIS. Following closely, the Doctor saw that the child had eyes that reminded him of hers, in a way. Even though Clara’s eyes were brown and the child’s grey, they were still large and round and very inquisitive. He passed them up as they went to the bathroom, going straight to where the TARDIS had parked the closet, and immediately changed. Shedding the singed navy-blue coat and spotted shirt, he put on t-shirts and a jumper, along with comfortable trousers, and slid into the slippers Clara had insisted on giving him the previous Christmas. Just as he was leaving the closet, she was exiting the bathroom alone.

“He should be alright for the time being,” she said. “It’s a shame; I liked that coat.”

“Nothing that can’t be found again,” he replied. He put his arms around her as she hugged him, leaning into the touch. Kissing the top of her head, he closed his eyes and squeezed her a little bit tighter, not wanting to let go. “He’s not going back there.”

“…sorry…?”

“The child is not going back to Kertix; there is less than nothing for him there.”

“How can you have less than nothing?”

“He will die if he returns. There would not be a family good enough to take him in.”

“A _child_—how can everyone on an entire planet hate _one_ _child_?”

“He represents something vile to them… a concept we luckily are lacking in.” He stayed silent for a moment, drawing strength from her presence, and recalled a conversation from only a few weeks before. “You told me a while ago that you still want to raise children… raise a child with me. Is _this_ the child you wanted?”

“He might be it… he might only be the first… I don’t know…”

“Then be careful until you know for certain.” The Doctor then let go of Clara and began to walk away. “The TARDIS will show you to a room he can use.”

“Where are you going?”

“If you want to take him with us back to Earth, then we have to make sure he can blend in,” he replied. “Get some sleep—you need it.”

With that he was off, headed to a place only he knew within the bowels of the ship, leaving Clara to figure out the rest on her own. She didn’t often appreciate when he did that, but knew that there at least was a reason for it. There was always a reason, that much she knew for certain.

* * *

By the time Clara had quickly washed and changed herself, she found that the Kertixi boy had finished with his bath. He was dressed in warm pajamas and was looking around the corridor in confusion, wondering where the adults went—wondering what was to happen next.

“Come on,” Clara insisted, holding out her hand. The boy took it and she brought him to a new room that the TARDIS had placed next to hers, a door adjoining them. It was rather large for a child, though it had all sorts of toys and games and books scattered about. There was even a pile of stuffed animals, which the child seemed to be drawn towards.

Nodding in approval, Clara let the boy go and he went over to the toys. They were soft and cuddly, so much so that the child’s eyes went wide in surprise. He picked one—a plush moose wearing a wee hat and scarf—and brought it with him over to show her.

“Would you like to bring that to bed with you?” she asked. He nodded sleepily. “Excellent choice; now let’s go to sleep, okay?” She tucked the boy in under the covers, seeing that he was amazed at the mattress and bedding as well. “Get used to it—you’re staying with us for a while. I’ll be on the other side of the door if you need me.”

“Thank you,” the boy murmured as he settled in. His voice was small and sweet, though muffled by his tiredness, and Clara felt honored to hear it. She kissed his forehead and let the lights turn off as she walked into her own room.

They were doing a good thing… she could feel it.

* * *

Clara woke up the following morning to find the sleeping Doctor cuddled into her side. Without even opening her eyes, she could feel the familiar weight of him against her—holding her—and hear the gentle snores he made. She sat up and stretched, only to jump when she opened her eyes and saw the boy standing next to her bed.

“Bloody hell,” she gasped. After catching her breath, she saw that he had barely moved, though was still clutching the toy moose he had the night before. Now that his hair was clean and dry, she could see that not only was it a much brighter shade than she originally thought—it was positively _Weasley_—but that it stuck up in a manner that looked to be a pain to tame. “Are you alright?”

He nodded.

“Okay, then it’s time for breakfast.” She nudged the Doctor, causing him to grunt and roll over. “I’m making eggs—you want any?” He mumbled something and kept on sleeping. “Your loss. Come on, kid, let’s go.”

Before long they were in the kitchen again and Clara was scrambling them both some eggs. The child watched as she made their breakfast—whisking eggs, buttering toast, putting together tea—all in silent curiosity. That was the word she would use if she had to describe him: _curious_. Then again, he was a child, and it was a trait she enjoyed fostering in her own students, even if they were a bit older than him.

Their breakfast was almost done when the Doctor came walking into the room, immediately raiding the refrigerator for a pot of yogurt. “Sleep well?”

“Better than you—what were you up to last night?”

“Thought I’d help the kid out, give him a little push,” he said. The Doctor sat down and took a pair of thick-rimmed glasses out of his jacket pocket, putting them on the table in front of the boy. “Put them on.”

Hesitantly, the boy picked up the glasses and watched as the Doctor showed him what to do with the sonic shades, copying him slowly. Soon as he put them on, the glasses whirred and his skin faded into a light pink, similar to Clara and the Doctor’s. He stared at his hands, tilting his head in thought. “We’re taking you to another planet where violet is not a natural skin color and they have no way of knowing that it would be for you. If you look like Clara, who is generally typical of the dominant species, there will be far less people who will treat you poorly.”

He produced a small mirror from his pocket and showed the boy his reflection. “See? I considered going with a little bit more melanin for optimal sun protection, though since the specs don’t alter anything other than what is optically transmitted, I figured that it would be best to make you look more like the woman in charge. At least you get to keep your hair and eyes. If it were up to me, we’d just let you go in naturally, but since these aren’t some of the rules I make…” He stopped as the boy took the mirror and looked at himself, eyes getting glassy with tears. No sooner was the Doctor ready to explain that it was just a shimmer did the boy lunge forward and give him a sniffle-filled hug. Clara saw how taken aback the Doctor was (he couldn’t even figure out what to do with his arms) and laughed, figuring it was her turn to get him out of the mess.

“Alright, alright, enough of that—let’s clean up and then we can get dressed and figure out _how_ we’re going to bring you to Earth,” she said. The boy put down the mirror and finished off the rest of his eggs and toast before placing his dishes in the dishwasher as he saw from the night before. Clara patted the Doctor on the shoulder as she stood, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “He _can_ speak.”

“When’d he do that?”

“Last night; he thanked me as I put him to bed.”

“It’s a start.” He glanced over his shoulder and saw the boy put his toy moose on the counter, making it hop along the edge. “Meet you in twenty.”

* * *

With everyone dressed and in the console room, Clara and the Doctor began their assessment of the small child that had stowed away from Kertix. The Time Lord had brought a cumbersome-looking helmet with him from inside the inner workings of the TARDIS, making Clara and the child jump as he plugged it into the console and sparks flew.

“It simply hasn’t been used in a while—don’t worry,” he said in an attempt to brush it off. He went and stuck the comically-oversized helmet on the boy’s head, giving it a couple good pats before flipping some switches. “It’s used to assess a student’s current progress based on a preset curriculum. Some of the Coal Hill students have given me some insight to their plight and I was able to adjust it accordingly.” He saw that she was doing that thing again—tight, pursed lips and standing lopsidedly. “What? If he won’t talk, we won’t be able to put together an accurate education profile. Does he go with the smaller pudding brains or the taller ones?”

“He looks to be about in Year Two, I imagine,” she said. The helmet made a noise and she lifted it from the boy’s head. “Is it done?” He giggled and slid out of the chair, opting instead to hold up his toy moose for her to pat on the head.

“Seems like the Kertixi are on-par with Humans, and that this youngster is roughly where he should be, give or take a societal norm or three,” the Doctor explained as he examined some readings on a monitor. “Needs a bit of catching up to do in reading, but once he does everything else will come naturally.”

“Good—keep him here while he starts catching up and I’ll try to figure out what schools near my flat and work might be suitable for him.”

“_Clara_… is that really what you want?”

“Let me at least look into it,” she insisted gently. When she heard no more protest, she pressed a quick kiss to his lips and went for the door. “See you after work.”

“The TARDIS isn’t parked.”

“Yes she is; this is my home space-time. I think I should know what my home space-time feels like.” She then left, stepping out into her flat on the appropriate morning, at the appropriate time, for her to be back at work with no one realizing that she had just been on the other side of the galaxy. The Doctor glanced down at the boy, who held up his moose again.

“Looks like it’s just you and me,” he told the boy. The sonic specs let out a churning noise and the shimmer flickered, eventually turning off. “How about it? Do you want to stay with Clara?” The child nodded. “I don’t know if you can properly stay in her flat though, and keeping the TARDIS grounded simply in order to give her the extra square footage to work with is also not fair… say, let’s go on a quick trip. Sound good?”

The boy glanced back towards the door, then back at the Doctor.

“We’ll be back before Clara, trust me.”

Ignoring the incredulous look he got, the Doctor threw the TARDIS into gear and punched in some coordinates—it was time to pull his weight.

* * *

Leaning back in her chair, Clara placed her mobile down on the desk and put a question mark next to the school she had just hung up with. By claiming to be a potential foster mother for a child with post-traumatic stress disorder, she was able to use her break to call varying primary schools around Coal Hill to see which would be the best equipped to handle such a case. It wasn’t an out-right lie, as she was planning on fostering him and she did have a strong suspicion that post-traumatic stress _was_ part of what contributed to the Kertixi child’s quiet and shy nature, but she also did not necessarily want to explain that any other oddness was simply that he literally was not born on Earth. She wasn’t going to claim anything else other than the PTSD and a personality dominated by introversion, as she was not a psychiatrist or psychologist, though she did have to admit that the “diagnosis” was very convenient for what she needed to conceal.

The bell to signal the change of classes rang and Clara quickly gathered her research, tucking it all away before the first student walked in. She had the lesson’s lecture done and coursework silently being worked on when she saw that the Doctor had texted her during open discussion.

“_We found a new flat_,” was the message, along with a link to a realtor listing. Clara opened it and saw it was precisely two blocks from where she currently was sitting, an extra three from the school she seemed to like best.

“_It looks nice, but I can’t afford that_,” she replied.

“_Maybe you can’t on your own, but we can_,” he texted. Two seconds later, a photo of a baffled-looking Kate Stewart and the Osgoods looking at the shimmer-less child appeared in the conversation. “_Popped on over to UNIT. I don’t trust everyone there, but I trust these three_.”

“_Why is that?_”

“_They gave me the numbers to my bank account. It wasn’t terribly much back then, but my salary when I was their scientific advisor has had about forty years to sit around to do nothing but accrue interest and get put into constant reinvestments_._ There might even be some original Apple stock, if what I gather is correct…_”

Clara’s eyes went wide as she realized what that meant. She glanced up at her students—they hadn’t noticed, or they didn’t care—and then back at her mobile.

“_So what you’re saying is that you’re filthy rich and can actually afford Shoreditch_.”

“_I am not filthy, but yes I can afford to pitch in without worrying about securing a job anytime in the next two centuries_.”

“_Sounds like someone better gear up for another lesson in Advanced Cuddling later tonight_.” She sent the text and imagined the embarrassment he would show immediately upon reading it. After a moment of looking at her mobile as it lay quiet, she caught sight of a student in the front row, raising her hand.

“Yes?”

“Is that Mr. Smith you’re texting?” the student wondered. Everyone else’s attention was caught—they _loved_ hearing about Mr. Smith.

“It’s none of your business, but I will admit that it is because there’s no harm in it… this time.”

“Do you know when he’s filling in for Mr. Atif next?” another student asked. “I like Mr. Atif, but I also like Mr. Smith!”

“That is for both of them to decide, being that one needs to figure out when he wants a holiday and the other if he will take over during said holiday,” Clara said. “Now, back to work, please. I want everyone done with their worksheets and reading before the bell rings.”

* * *

Needless to say, the flat that the Doctor had picked out was _phenomenal_.

He met her there after she was done with work, which also was coincidentally right after he signed for the place, and her jaw dropped at the size of it. “The sitting room’s the size of my current flat, Doctor,” she marveled. “Are you sure about this?”

“Of course,” he said, gesturing towards where the Kertixi child was watching television. The boy was scrutinizing _Blue Peter_ with the best of his ability, staying completely silent as he watched the show, the toy moose in his lap. “It has plenty of room for him when he needs more space to spread out, the likes of which we shall need plenty if your students are anything to go by. It’s close to your work, by multiple modes of transport, and,” he leaned in closer to her, dropping his voice, “if you want to add a second or third, we won’t have to move right away or stack them atop one another.”

“Using those multiple layers of thought for the forces of good this time, hm?” she teased. The Doctor responded with a waggle of his eyebrows and a smug grin. “Earning extra credit, are we?”

“My marks are incredibly high—I’m not entirely sure I’d need it,” he purred. They both inhaled deeply and sparks flew between them; it wouldn’t take much more before they were on one another. Holding steady, they held one another’s hand and the Doctor began to guide Clara towards the rest of the flat. “Neil? I’m going to show Clara the other rooms.”

The boy looked at them and nodded before making the moose wave. When it was clear that he was staying put, the Doctor pulled Clara urgently, finding their new bedroom just in time for her to divest him of his jacket and letting it drop to the floor. She pressed him into the wall, holding him there as she unbuckled his belt.

“Is that my bed?” she asked, pausing for a moment to allow the Doctor time to pull her jumper over her head. He tossed it to the side and leaned down to kiss her neck.

“I thought you’d be more comfortable if it was here,” he said. She took hold of his sides and removed him from the wall, pushing him onto the bed instead. “I take it that’s a yes?”

“I normally don’t like it when men throw money around and move my furniture across town without my permission, but this… I’ll make an exception and instead be very impressed.” She straddled his lap and began unbuttoning his shirt. “I’ll put in with my landlord tomorrow.”

“Not after this…?

“With the way you’re going to feel after this? I’d rather do it when you’re in a state to help move the rest of my things.” She pushed his shirt off him and threw it over her shoulder before pressing his torso down onto the bed. “Congratulations, Doctor. You’ve unlocked the Master Class in Cuddling.”

“Can we call it something else?” he requested. “I’d rather not refer to _anything_ we do as a ‘_Master_’ class.”

“It’s your punishment for naming him without my approval,” she said while sliding his belt from his trousers. She limply hit him with the bunched-up leather, not even forceful enough to make a sound. “Why Neil?”

“He was one of Earth’s first space-travelers, and it is a name that originated on the Isles. He will likely be unique in his class, though that doesn’t have to mean he should be odd.”

“How are you a total shit, yet I cannot get enough of you?” she wondered. “You’ve far evolved from being a hobby anymore—you’re an _addiction_.”

“Best addiction you’ll ever have, admit it.” He gazed up at her, completely besotted, as she paused to make sure she heard no noise coming towards their door. “Clara…?”

“What?”

“Want to make that addiction official?”

* * *

Sure enough, Clara’s landlord was absolutely flabbergasted by the news that she was breaking her lease and leaving. Her now-former tenant did not give her any reason as to why she was moving—she insisted that everything had been fine, if a bit cramped—yet she was able to piece things together when a small child’s head poked out from around the corner, only to be brought back by the man whom she had seen more than a few times calling on the young Miss Oswald.

One glance at her hand and the landlord knew it was _Mrs. Oswald_ now. They had first met when the younger woman was fresh out of university and now it appeared she was leaving as a wife and stepmother. She congratulated her, wished her well, and tried not to laugh as Mrs. Oswald went red from embarrassment.

Life was nothing to be embarrassed about, she reminded her, and went to fetch the appropriate paperwork.

* * *

It was a rainy day as lined paper lay splayed all over the kitchen table whilst Neil practiced his letters, shimmer-inducing glasses perched upon his nose. Large, shaky block letters spelled out “_Neil Oswald_”, “_Doctor_”, “_Clara_”, “_Sally_”, and different numbers across the papers. He finished the page he was on and slid off the chair, bringing it into the sitting room. Clara was not yet back from work, but the Doctor was sitting at a table set along a large window, working carefully with some circuit boards as the TARDIS sat contently in the corner of the sitting room. As the boy approached, however, the Time Lord put down his work and adjusted his goggles so that he could see the paper clearly.

“Looking much better,” he said approvingly. “You still need to work on that small a right there—try the other way Clara showed you. That might help.”

Neil nodded and then glanced at what the Doctor was working on. He pointed at the circuit board and tilted his head inquisitively.

“It’s a processor for the TARDIS, to help her patch into Earth’s telecommunications networks smoother and more reliably,” the Doctor explained. “Would you like to watch?”

Eyes going wide, Neil nodded excitedly and ran away, depositing his paper and grabbing his toy moose. He returned to the Doctor’s side a bouncing bundle of energy, allowing the man to scoop him up and place him in his lap.

“Sally has to stay here, or else she might get hurt,” the Doctor said, taking the moose away. He put the toy on the windowsill and pressed a button on the side of Neil’s glasses. It whirred momentarily and the glass shaded slightly. “Always remember to protect those eyes of yours—those specs fail and I have to find a whole new way to keep the shimmer going. Maybe when we’re in another space-time coordinate, but for now… safety first.”

Neil nodded and waited for the Doctor to replace his goggles before resuming work. It was mostly circuit soldering, yet the solder was a metal alloy unknown to Earth and the heat source a miniature welding torch. The boy watched intently, resting his head against the Doctor’s chest as he observed the fine-detailed work that was going on in front of them.

“Maybe, when you can write your letters neater, we can get you a soldering set,” the Doctor suggested. “You could make circuit boards for Earth computers, or little figurines, or practice for when you can one day help me with tuning up the TARDIS.”

“Please,” Neil replied. The Doctor turned off the soldering torch and set it down, leaning in order to look at the boy in his lap.

“You spoke.”

A nod.

“Can you say anything else?”

Another nod.

“Do you _want_ to say anything else?”

Neil shook his head.

“I should’ve known I wasn’t going to be _that lucky_ today.” He brushed hair away from the child’s face and gave him a gentle smile—the kindest he could muster. “You have a good voice. Don’t hide it away forever, alright?”

The little boy nodded into his chest and squeaked slightly, a sign that he understood. Going back to his work, the Doctor stayed silent as he continued to let Neil watch him, wondering how long it would take before the quiet lad would be unable to stop talking. They were both likely going to look back on that afternoon fondly, though how long and how so would only be revealed with time.

“Ah, there’s my boys,” Clara beamed as she walked into the flat. Neil wriggled his way out of the Doctor’s lap and ran over to her, giving her the tightest hug he could muster in the middle of the sitting room. The Doctor looked over at the clock and saw that a whole hour had passed in work-filled silence.

“Welcome home, Clara,” he said, allowing her to move his goggles to his forehead. “I was just showing Neil here how to do electronics work.”

“He’s only six—don’t conscript him already,” she smirked. She gave him a quick kiss and watched as Neil went to fetch his toy moose from the windowsill. “Oh, was Sally watching too?”

“She made certain we did not catch the table on fire again,” the Doctor said gravely. Neil giggled and scurried out of the room, returning quickly with papers full of his practice letters, showing them to Clara as it was her turn to settle in the Doctor’s lap. “He worked hard all afternoon on these; what do you think?”

“You’re coming along much nicer, Neil,” Clara marveled. “With all this brilliant progress, you could nearly be _ahead_ of the class in writing when you start school in September.” She knelt down and kissed the boy’s forehead, seeing that he was beginning to grow glassy-eyed and full of sniffles. “_I’m very proud of you_ _Neil_, and I want you to never forget that.” He nodded and crumpled into her arms, silently crying into her shoulder. She stroked his back as she eased him to his feet, standing next to him for support. The boy took his glasses off and let the shimmer fritz out as he wiped the tears from his face.

“Clara, stop making extraterrestrials cry,” the Doctor teased. He picked up Neil and placed him on his shoulders, the boy’s lithe frame very light and easy to support. “Here we are—you should be safe up there.”

“You’re an idiot,” she frowned.

“Take it from me,” the Doctor told Neil, “she is good at making other species cry.”

“Rule Number One: the Doctor lies and lies often,” Clara added.

“Don’t listen to her.” Neil giggled from over his head and he grinned at Clara. “She tossed out all my yogurt once.”

“IT WAS BEGINNING TO GROW LEGS AND WALK AWAY,” she groaned in exasperation. She decided to simply let it go and stormed off, leaving her two boys in the sitting room with one another.

“See? Told you it was safer up there.”

* * *

Two days later and the gentle rain had seemingly stopped, allowing for an afternoon of drying out in the sun before more clouds rolled back in. Neil watched as lightning lit the sky miles away, nose pressed to the window and unperturbed by the barely-there thunder. He placed Sally the Moose atop his head and placed his hands against the glass as if he was trying to push through. Clara walked into the boy’s bedroom and shook her head.

“It’s just a storm,” she chuckled. She went over to his side and glanced out the window, seeing what he was marveling at. “Are you afraid of storms? Lightning? Thunder?” He looked at her and shook his head. “Good; I’ll still keep your lamp on though, okay?”

Neil nodded, catching Sally as she slipped off his head. Clara then ushered the pajama-clad lad into his bed, making sure he and moose were tucked in securely. She kissed his hair and turned on the lamp on the nightstand, softly illuminating the ceiling with spinning stars.

“Good night.”

“Good night,” he echoed quietly. He made a soft humming noise as he settled into the blankets, hugging his moose and drifting off towards sleep, satisfying his guardian. Clara quietly left the room and went into her own, where the Doctor was toweling off his freshly-showered head.

“He down?” he asked. A squeeze of his pants-clad rear and he had his answer. “I think he’s adjusting nicely.”

“Nice as he possibly can,” she agreed. She hugged her husband, hands automatically snaking underneath his t-shirt, and sighed contently. “Let’s just go to bed.”

“As you wish,” he murmured. He let her go and sat down on the bed to watch her change into her nightie. “What have you done to me, Clara Oswald?”

“What?” she giggled.

“Here I am, waiting to lay in bed for eight hours with nothing productive to do, while a child slumbers in the next room, after a long day of _minding_ said child while my wife was off at work. The domesticity should be killing me—I am the Oncoming Storm, the most feared being in the universe, and yet you’ve tamed me.”

“What better to tame the Dread Space-Pirate Doctor than an enigma in a riddle in a rather tight skirt,” Clara chuckled. The Doctor frowned at that.

“I am not a space-pirate.”

“Yes you are.” She sat on his lap. “You stole a ship.”

“The TARDIS stole _me_.”

“You have had a crew made up of misfits and outcasts.”

“Marginalized members of society naturally find one another.”

She ran her fingers through his damp hair. “You go wherever—whenever—the vortex takes you.”

“Again, that was the TARDIS.”

“Your government fears and hates you.”

“…alright, that I cannot deny.”

“_You stole my heart, you dashing space-pirate_,” she whispered huskily. She kissed him contently as they sat there at the edge of the bed, the thunder outside growing louder. They eventually moved underneath the covers and switched their gears to cuddling.

“You can’t just add ‘space’ to the beginning of something,” he protested as she snugged up behind him.

“Watch me.”

They laid there, nearly lulled to sleep by the storm, when a crack of thunder low and strong enough to make the window rattle washed over them, waking the couple momentarily. Less than thirty seconds after that, Neil had run into the room and dashed underneath the blanket, sobbing unintelligibly.

“Oh, what’s this?” Clara wondered, her mind still groggy from her almost-sleep. She rolled over and allowed the boy to cling to her. “Neil, why aren’t you in bed?”

“This is his first thunderstorm, I bet,” the Doctor said. He propped himself up on an elbow and reached across Clara to place his hand on the child’s violet face. Instantly he could see, hear, feel the Kertixi Offensive happening inside Neil’s mind. Thunder rumbled and the boy twitched—the memory of large munitions going off making his synapses fire at a dizzying rate.

“Is he okay, Doctor?” Clara asked. The Time Lord brushed the pad of his thumb against the boy’s forehead and the lad instantly calmed, limply falling asleep.

“Now he is,” he replied. “I started a dream for him, where he will know no war, no want, no fear. With any luck, he shall remember this and go for better dreams during the next storm.”

“Isn’t that dangerous, though?” she wondered. Clara watched as the Doctor stood and walked around the bed, bending down to pick up Neil. “Won’t going into his brain mess him up?”

“To do anything aside from start a quiet, calm dream about doing the shopping with you yesterday? Not if I’m careful. I cannot suggest to him—cannot mold his will or desires—without causing damage and that’s the last thing I want to do.” He brought the boy back to his own bed and tucked him in, making certain that Sally the Moose was safely within his grasp.

“_Good night, my son_,” the Doctor said, switching into his native Gallifreyan for a moment. He turned towards the door and saw that Clara had followed them.

“What did you say?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he lied.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say the one who domesticated the Dread Space-Pirate Doctor wasn’t me,” she smirked. She watched as his ears turned red and blush tinged his face and neck. He even felt extra-warm as they laid back down in bed, attempting to get at least a bit of sleep before the morning broke.

* * *

The first Monday after the start of summer break—it was a wonderful, relaxing day that Clara relished beyond measure… even moreso now that she had more to do at home. Before it was just figuring out how long she could go without making an appearance at her flat block, yet now… now it was different. She had a family now to think of, and said family was already acting rather sluggish.

“Let’s take a picnic in the park,” she announced. The Doctor had been lying on the couch with Neil curled into him, both watching _Shaun the Sheep_ reruns. They looked at her incredulously—she swore the boy was picking up some of the Time Lord’s mannerisms.

“…and miss his lessons in nonverbal communication and storytelling techniques?” the Doctor whined.

“Yes,” she insisted. “It also means getting dressed in proper clothes, you nit.” She poked at his pajama bottoms and gave him the sternest look she could muster. “Both of you better be ready in half an hour or there will be trouble.” She then turned off the television and left, heading into the kitchen to put together their sandwiches. By the time she had lunch made and packed away, the Doctor and Neil were reluctantly dressed and standing at the door, the former impatiently and the latter with Sally the Moose tucked safely in his arms.

The walk out to the park was short and uneventful; the Doctor carried the backpack with their lunch over one shoulder, while Clara held onto his other arm as she walked alongside him, and Neil wandered about a couple paces ahead of them. It wasn’t a rather large or exciting park, but it was leafy with plenty of shade and a playground occupied by plenty of small children. Neil immediately went to go climb up the playset while Clara and the Doctor found themselves a comfortable spot to lay a blanket underneath a tree.

“See? It’s good to get the two of you out of the flat,” Clara nodded. She watched as Neil scurried about with the other kids, mimicking all their running and jumping and skipping. “I was beginning to worry for the TARDIS’s safety.”

“Since when do you worry about the TARDIS’s safety?” the Doctor scoffed. He took one of the thermoses from the bag and poured himself a cuppa.

“Since Kate told me last week a story about you being so bored you nearly imploded the TARDIS with several members of UNIT staff inside… _in the 70’s_,” she quipped. She paused for a moment, watching Neil quietly as he expelled what seemed like dizzying amounts of energy. “He’s getting along really well—to think he came into our lives on accident.”

“The TARDIS lets nothing happen by accident. The old girl’s a sly one.” He pressed a kiss behind her ear before passing her another thermos, this one filled with her tea. “She can get rather choosy about who crosses her threshold.”

“…and here I was beginning to think that she let just about anyone in,” she teased. The two adults then stopped talking as Neil ran up to them, a worried look on his face as he held Sally out towards them. A closer look showed that the toy was sopping wet and half-full of mud. “Oh! Did Sally fall in a puddle?”

Neil nodded urgently.

“Then let’s put her on the grass while we eat, okay?” the Doctor said. He gently took the toy and placed it just past the edge of the blanket. “She can watch over us from here until we can get her home for a wash.”

Reluctantly, Neil nodded in affirmation—he was going to have to leave Sally alone for the time being. He sat down on the blanket and accepted tea from Clara, who had made sure to keep it nice and milky-sweet for him.

“There, that’s better,” she crooned. She then noticed a couple of Coal Hill students walking up to them and braced herself. “Hello there! Evie! Poppy! How are you two doing?”

“Hello Miss Oswald,” the taller girl, Evie, said. The two teens were quickly attempting to piece everything together, though were failing. “Hi Mr. Smith; we didn’t know you had a grandkid.”

“This is not my grandchild, and it’s Oswald now—didn’t you notice, or are you becoming too dense to notice the ring on Mrs. Oswald’s finger?”

“Blimey, and I thought that was just to keep creeps away,” Poppy marveled. She then looked from Neil to Clara to the Doctor and back to Clara. “Whose kid is this? You wouldn’t’ve had my brother for Literature if this was your kid.”

“They’re Mum and Dad.” Neil pointed at Clara and the Doctor, both of whom were attempting to hide their surprise. “I had none before, but now I have them. Mum and Dad are mine now.”

“What’s your name?” Evie asked, ignoring the adults’ shock.

“Neil Oswald.” He pointed towards his moose. “That’s Sally. She’s dirty.”

“Something tells me you’ll be more careful next time,” Evie chuckled. She ruffled Neil’s hair, accidentally knocking his glasses askew. The shimmer flickered for just a moment before the boy righted them, squeaking in freight.

“Cor… Woods was right,” Poppy marveled. “This is some right _bonkers_ alien shite.”

“Language,” the Doctor warned gently. Neil crawled into his lap and buried his face in his chest. “He’s not good with… well… anything yet.”

“Give him time—he’ll be alright with you two,” Evie said. She crouched down so that she was at Neil’s height and waited until he looked at her. “Your new mum’s one of the best teachers we’ve got, and your new dad’s super-fun to have around when the regular caretaker’s not in; you’re going to be in the best of care, okay? Don’t worry, we won’t tell.” She put her pointer finger to her lips and winked when Neil mimicked her.

“Yeah, it’s not like anyone would believe us anyhow—aliens in Shoreditch… what bunk.”

“Not as absurd as you might think,” the Doctor chuckled. Evie and Poppy bid them goodbye for the time being and left, allowing the parents time to marvel at their child.

“You sure do like to talk when you get going,” Clara said sweetly. Neil glanced up at her innocently, which only made her chuckle. “Maybe one day you’ll be able to talk like that to just about everyone, even us. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“I don’t want to go though,” he mumbled. It was clear that the words were becoming more difficult again and that soon he would be silent.

“What do you mean?” Clara asked. Get it all now before it was too late.

“Back on the ship, Dad said if I can commumicate well, you can drop me off somewhere else. I don’t want to go. I want to stay with you.”

“Is _that_ why you’ve been silent this entire time?” the Doctor asked. Neil nodded. “Well that was silly. I think we should finish this picnic, drop the bag off at the flat, and take a walk. There’s something I might be able to do to convince you that you’re not going anywhere, not unless you want to go.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Then that’s settled.” He then dug into the backpack and pulled out some sandwiches. “Until then, it’s time to eat.”

* * *

“We’re not a forgery service,” Kate frowned. She glanced over at the small extraterrestrial that Clara and the Doctor had gotten past the guards—again—as it learned silly, memetic dances from the Osgoods. “You can’t just come in here and tell me to falsify what would be six years’ worth of documents just because you found a stray.”

“Neil is not a stray,” the Doctor said. “As a mother, I’d think you would understand that.”

“You’re in love with him now, but what is going to happen when he starts being a shouty shit?” the UNIT woman said. “I’m going through that phase right now with my children—do you really think you can handle it? Both of you?”

“If it weren’t for it being summer, I’d be in a classroom with a bunch of those shouty shits at this very moment,” Clara deadpanned. “All we need is a birth certificate, false NHS records, and some adoption paperwork so that we can put him in school and have no red flags raised on us.”

“This won’t work.”

“Yes it will.”

“How are you so sure about that?”

“I just am, alright?”

“You’re playing with fire here; too much more unnecessary strain on our resources and the veil we have in place keeping the Zygons safe is destroyed. We just finished covering them up again—I doubt another incident so close to a near-outright _war_ will go away unnoticed.”

“You’d be surprised at the Human mind’s ability to ignore what it doesn’t want to acknowledge,” the Doctor cut in. “It is how people have been able to treat their neighbors poorly for thousands of years, to put it lightly, and I’d doubt that inventing six years for a child is nowhere near as difficult as sixty for some of the adult Zygons under your auspices.”

Kate frowned grouchily—he had her there. “Fine; just know that in order to adopt a child, you need to have jobs.”

“Clara has a job,” the Doctor said, unsure if he should be insulted.

“I think she meant you, idiot,” Clara deadpanned.

“I _had_ a job! I’m _retired_!” The Doctor was _actually _offended now. “Isn’t that enough?”

“You cannot be a stay-at-home pensioner father in that fancy flat of yours and have neither a pension nor a supplemental job; highly doubt DWP would allow it, for starters,” Kate mentioned coolly. She watched as the Doctor grew livid whilst Clara attempted to not burst into laughter. “I can work you in slowly, thrice a week, until the school year occupies more of young Neil’s time and you can be here for a normal five days.”

“Clara?”

“What, Doctor?”

“What is a _DWP_?”

“The Department for Work and Pensions—it’s a ministerial government department that tracks and is in charge of exactly that.”

“They need an entire department for that?”

“Yes, they do; now call her bluff.”

The Doctor remained silent.

“You don’t scare me, Kate,” Clara sighed. “I’ve had students go through the adoption process. I’m not stupid.”

“This is true—neither of you are stupid by any means—yet you are essentially ordering an international governmental body to forge papers and then not tell anyone about it afterwards. Those are my terms; I’ll make the papers anyhow, just what is going to be the aftermath?”

Clara had to hand it to Stewart—she was _good_.

* * *

Neil sat cross-legged on the bed as he stared at the Doctor, watching as he put nicer clothes on. The Time Lord was doing many more buttons much earlier in the day than the boy had seen before, which was curious, and it seemed to be making him cross.

“I bet you’re wondering where I’m going,” the Doctor posited.

“…work…?” Neil asked. His voice was still quiet, as though he was not yet comfortable with its existence, though it was getting better every day.

“That is correct.”

The boy fiddled with his toy moose, pensive. “Mum…?”

“She still has work, but it is a different kind, and that’s not going to start up again until September.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Work?”

“Mum’s work or my work?”

“Yours, Dad.” It was a little thing, yet the addition of the title warmed the Doctor’s hearts.

“Miss Kate offered me a job, so I don’t go crazy while you’re in school and take apart the television or blow up the flat on accident,” he half-lied. That was at least going to be an added bonus, Clara kept on reminding him, and he was sticking to it. “I’ll go in more often in September.”

“…when I’m in classes?”

“Yes. Mam will drop you off and I will pick you up and we will be much more like many other families that way. It’s what Mam wants.” He smiled a bit, his hearts feeling lighter with each passing moment—he was Dad and Clara was Mum and it made him feel much better than he had first anticipated. Buttons done, the Doctor eased on his jacket and left his bedroom, heading over to the TARDIS with Neil skipping along behind him. He was nearly there when the irritated sound of Clara’s voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

“You are _not_ taking the TARDIS to work,” she insisted.

“My shoes are in there,” he explained. She instead poked her head out of the kitchen, frowning unconvinced.

“Then get them and come back,” she insisted. “You are going to take the Tube like we agreed.”

“I said that so you would let me continue to work on my circuit board,” he whined.

“No breaking your word—you are taking the Tube like a normal person.”

“That is cruel.”

“That is life.”

“I won’t do it.”

“Yes you will—you agreed to use the Tube and that is what you shall do.” She glanced over at Neil and saw that his eyes were very round and rather watery. “What…? Neil…? Are you alright…?”

The lad hugged Sally and his eyes went to the floor.

“Neil? Why are you so quiet?”

Still nothing.

“We aren’t fighting, not like that,” the Doctor insisted. He knelt down next to Neil and stroked the boy’s hair, careful to not accidentally knock the shimmer-glasses askew. “I’m surprised it took you that long to notice when we do that, honestly. Mam and Dad are not that sort of couple—the kind that secretly hates each other. You don’t have to be afraid.”

“Is _that_ what this is about?” Clara wondered, heading towards her boys. “We weren’t _fighting_-fighting, just teasing. Sometimes adults do that, especially if they’ve known each other as long as your Mum and Dad have.” She gently tilted her son’s chin up with her finger, seeing that he was becoming rather distraught. “I don’t know what you’ve seen from people who bicker, but don’t worry about us—we’re too attached to one another to get mean about things. Does that make sense? Even a little?”

A tiny nod and an even tinier “yeah” was Neil’s response. He allowed himself to lean into her legs and clutched her pajama bottoms; the only thing that made him let go was the Doctor scooping him up, the act startling the boy enough to make him drop the moose.

“Come along and help me find my shoes,” the Doctor said. He put Neil down after a couple paces, allowing him to go towards the TARDIS of his own volition. “Maybe if you help, then Mam will understand that she won _this round_ and I’ll take the Tube for at least today.”

“…_and most days after that_,” Clara half-shouted after them. The two extraterrestrials then disappeared into the TARDIS, leaving their human to herself. She picked Sally up off the floor and examined the toy, marveling at how far they seemed to have come since it was first picked out of the pile of stuffed animals. Gosh—it was ages ago, wasn’t it? She kept looking at the toy until a giggly streak of ginger scurried past her, wondering what happened for only a moment before the Doctor appeared in the TARDIS doorway, only one untied boot on his foot.

“Where did he go?!” he asked, attempting to not snap. He was failing at being cross, as his eyebrows were being fully Scottish and his scowl prominent. “The little Dalek took my other shoe!”

“Maybe he just wanted to make sure that Dad got back to the flat,” she smirked.

Clara watched as the Doctor took one step and got caught up in his own laces. He fell face-first onto the floor, which made her laugh and him grumble.

“Neil…?” she called out. She watched her son poke his head out from behind the corner. “Give Dad his shoe back and apologize, please.” The little boy guiltily handed the Doctor his boot.

“Sorry.”

“Warn me next time you want to do that—you might get lost in the ship’s corridors,” the Doctor mumbled. He took the boot and began to put it on, which gave Clara the opportunity to hand Sally back.

“Now go put together some breakfast; we have a big day of school shopping ahead of us. You do want to be ready for school, don’t you?”

“Yes!”

“Then let’s go!”

* * *

Weeks passed and before either Clara or the Doctor knew it, Neil was invading their bedroom to wake them up for his first day of school. The boy crawled up onto their bed and began jumping on an empty bit of mattress, shaking his parents until they woke.

“Bloody hell, Neil, it’s five in the morning,” Clara groaned blearily. She turned towards the child only for the toy moose in the boy’s hands to accidentally slip out and smack into her face. Picking up the toy, she threw it towards the door, which made Neil gasp and run after it.

“A bit longer,” the Doctor muttered into his pillow. Clara fully let go of him and rolled onto her back, smacking his rear as she did so.

“Kid’s up, so we’re up,” she said. “You’re the one who wanted to make this official.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he mumbled. Since when was he so prone to backaches? To not feeling refreshed enough after a nap? When was the last time he needed naps? It had been a bit, that was for certain. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the mattress, only to have Sally shoved in his face. After kissing both moose and boy on the forehead, he allowed Neil to climb on his back and carried him out of the room—oh… _that’s_ where the ache was coming from. “Was Mam being mean and throwing Sally again?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then let’s get started on breakfast without her.”

They went towards the kitchen and were indeed eating before Clara stepped into the room. There was a stack of sloppy pancakes waiting for her, along with a very quiet Neil and Doctor. She took one bite of the food and hummed in delight—they were delicious.

“I helped,” Neil stated quietly. Blush crept over his face, showing how proud he was to his contribution.

“What did you do?” she asked.

“Stirred and poured.”

“You did _excellent_,” she affirmed. The boy beamed some more and continued eating the remnants of his own pancakes.

Before long, everyone was done and getting ready for the day. It took longer than usual thanks to a lost shoe, Sally’s need to be left at home (“…to guard the place, honest!”), and a long-winded concession into the family’s typical commuting mode, but finally the trio stepped inside the TARDIS and took off, bringing them to a quiet stretch of pavement around the corner from Neil’s new school. They stepped out and allowed Neil to glance around, seeing the dozens of other children that were headed into school at that moment.

“I don’t wanna,” he whimpered, taking a step back.

“You’ll be fine,” Clara insisted. She allowed Neil to take her hand and they began walking towards the school. “Just remember: we’re proud of you for making it this far.”

“Yeah…?”

“Of course,” the Doctor insisted. He pulled a pen from the inside of his jacket and handed it to the lad. “There’s a sensor on that—if at any time you are in danger, it will send my sonic specs a signal and I will come immediately. How does that sound?”

Neil nodded and put the pen in his own pocket. They were now at the gate, where he stopped to watch the other children milling about. Whole minutes passed before he looked up at Clara and the Doctor, grey eyes wide.

“I love you Mum, Dad,” he squeaked out.

“…and we love you,” Clara replied, trying her hardest to not cry.

“_I am happy and content for the first time in a long time thanks to you and your mother_,” the Doctor stated, allowing himself to speak in his native Gallifreyan. Neil understood the gravity of the words, though not the words themselves, and smiled at his parents.

“What was your dad speaking? Scottish?” asked a voice. Neil turned and saw another boy his age who was looking at them curiously. “Was he?”

“It was witchcraft—I’m going to turn you all into newts,” the Doctor joked, wiggling his fingers at the child. The boy rolled his eyes and turned back to Neil.

“Dads are weird sometimes, aren’t they?”

“I guess…”

“You must be the new kid I heard about; wanna go play before class starts? Mo got a new football for his birthday!”

“Sure.” Neil glanced back at Clara and the Doctor, taking their silence as permission. He then ran after his new classmate, headed towards where some other children were kicking a ball around.

“Would you look at that—not even two minutes and he’s already being taught to hate you,” Clara teased. They hooked their arms together and began to amble towards the TARDIS.

“Our Neil knows better than to hate,” the Doctor huffed. They got back inside the ship and he looked at his wife—oh, the _transformation_ that had come over them within the last half-year. One whiff of her pheromones was all he needed to become antsy. “Do we have to go into work _this minute_?”

Clara considered that. “Promise we’ll still go in on-time?”

“For you, Mrs. Oswald? Definitely.” He picked up her hand and kissed it, allowing his lips to linger before letting go to pilot the TARDIS back to the flat.

Maybe this domestic life wasn’t entirely that bad.


End file.
